


In the Woods Somewhere

by howlingmoonrise (TheDarkStoryteller)



Category: Ever After High, Ever After High Series - Shannon Hale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Darise - Freeform, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Imprisonment, Red Riding Hood Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStoryteller/pseuds/howlingmoonrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Milton Grimm discovered Red and Badwolf's affair and went to great lengths to silence it. Years later, Daring Charming finds a girl in the woods.<br/>Or, Daring Charming accidentally becomes the next Red Riding Hood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Thronecoming hit me right in the feels last summer when I caught up to all the EAH episodes back then, so this fic has been in semi-existence since then under the working title of 'red riding daring'. This took me about a year to finally complete after the first 11k rush of inspiration; that episode swallowed me whole into shipping hell. There's three other fics for this pairing in the works that I might never finish because what is even writing. 
> 
> I shall go down with this ship.
> 
> Amanda Seyfried's song Little Red Riding Hood was fantastic for the writing juices to flow, I encourage y'all to give it a listen. Also, fynneyseas on tumblr [drew art for this fic ](http://fynneyseas.tumblr.com/post/148717310453/howlingmoonrise-wrote-a-beautiful-au-in-which)and it's all kinds of amazing!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

Daring Charming is, regrettably, lost.

The Dark Forest rises dark and ominous over him; twisting branches grab at his clothing from above while roots do their best to snag his feet from below. He doesn’t know how he ended here - lost, armour-less, and jumping at every crack and rustle he hears.

Daring Charming is no coward, but the Dark Forest has a way to make even the most courageous of heroes take a step back.

_ Mostly, it’s the unknown _ , he thinks. At least when fighting a dragon he knows what he’s going up against, knows how to prepare for it; here, he doesn’t know half the creatures that inhabit the darkness of the woods, doesn’t know how to find his way back. It’s a new kind of feeling. Daring is not used to feeling vulnerable, and he does not like it in the slightest.

Then, his ears capture a sound. Rushing water. Suddenly, he feels the most thirsty he’s ever been in his life, and it’s only the common sense stomped into his brain during years of Hero Training that stops him from running towards it.

_ It could be a trap _ , the sensible side of his mind whispers, and Daring only half-listens to it. His fairytale hasn’t even started yet; he’s not about to be poisoned or eaten alive by some sort of forest creature.

Water glints at him from a small stream, and Daring discards all sense. He’s drinking from it before he can even register moving, and the water glides down his throat like the coldest of reliefs. He drinks his fill, letting the coolness spread from his stomach to the tip of his fingertips, and has to forcefully draw himself away before he drinks enough to get indisposed - something he’d learnt the hard way that could happen.

He’s closing his eyes and allowing himself to enjoy the feeling when someone speaks from somewhere behind him. “Thirsty, are we?”

They sound amused, but Daring is up and drawing his sword before he even looks at the person - or creature, one never knows when it comes to fairytales - that had spoken.

“Easy there,” says the voice again, somewhat raspy and still sounding amused, and he tracks it down to a small figure beneath one of the trees of the clearing. It’s a  _ she _ , he realizes, bundled within the depths of a red cape, hood firmly over her head, and on a second look she isn’t as tiny as he had first thought. In fact, he thinks that if she left her semi-crouched position, she’d almost be his height. “I’m not going to eat you any time soon, so you can put away the sword.”

“Come into the light,” Daring orders instead of doing what the girl asked. He’s had  _ training _ , for Grimm’s sake; he’s not about to be taken down just because  _ something  _ that might look like a damsel in distress made him lower his guard.

“Aren’t you a nervous little knight,” chuckles the girl - or  _ thing _ , he’s not quite sure yet -, and she gets up. Immediately his eyes flash to the chains that bind her hands and feet, of a length that curls and coils its way between the trees and the shadows until he can’t be quite sure where it begins. Daring gulps. The girl smiles with a glint of something that  _ could  _ or could not be fangs, and steps into the light.

_ A fairy _ , is his first thought. Eyes made of silver, with eyelashes that extend long, graceful shadows over her cheekbones.  _ Demon, _ is his next thought. Bloody lips curled in a sinful way, hands tugging at the edge of the cloak with nails so black and sharp that could almost be claws. Unwittingly, he takes a step back.

A pink tongue darts out, catching a red drop from the lips he’d been gazing at not a second ago, and he wonders at how she got to be in such a state. Daring’s heroic instincts are torn: there is a maiden in the woods, bloody and shackled, and he wants to both help her and run away. Because Daring Charming might be a hero, but he’s also terrified; and more than one of the tales he’s grown up with speaks of ladies lost in the woods and how they can make or break a hero.

“Who are you?” he demands instead, ignoring with all his might the way his voice almost breaks and the slight tremble of his hands on the sword.

She doesn’t ignore them, though, and he catches her eyes staring far too interestedly at his shaking grip. “Just someone who’s been here for a long time. Aren’t you too far away from home, little knight?”

“You’re smaller than me,” he splutters out, and then cringes. Daring Charming is-- well, he’s  _ charming _ , not a spluttering mess that gets lost in forest and shakes when meeting bloodied damsels. Supposedly. He’s behaving like  _ Dexter _ , and while he loves his brother and doesn’t mind him being that way, this isn’t  _ him _ . “You haven’t answered my question.”

She smiles, showing teeth coated in red, and he almost takes another step back. “And you haven’t answered mine.”

He may not have backed off, but she follows his almost-movement, predatory as she takes another step in his direction and grabs his sword by the blade.

“What are you doing?” he asks, panicked, and immediately tries to take the sword back.

She presses it against her neck instead, the metal indenting the soft skin there. “Are you going to use it or not?”

Daring stiffens. It sounds like a challenge, and it probably is meant to be one - but this is a  _ life  _ they’re talking about here, and while he generally loves all sorts of challenges, this isn’t one he’s willing to accept.

He sighs, and pulls the sword back. She allows it to go while not quite loosening her grip, and a small line of blood draws itself across her palm. He doesn’t sheathe it, though. His instincts still tremble at the sight of the forest lady; he’s not going to be unprepared if she decides to attack.

“Well,” she says, watching as he withdraws. “That’s new.”

Daring eyes her warily. “Tell me about it.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer. Then, each take a step backwards, reaching an unspoken, uneasy truce of sorts.

He wants to leave, but he also wants to stay. Daring has stumbled into a curious situation, one he hasn’t prepared for, and finds himself oddly enchanted by it. There is something burning in his chest, a knowledge that his royal status has no influence here, that his name means nothing, and he’s all the more thrilled and terrified because of it. “Why are you chained?”

She eyes him from beneath her lashes - they’re awfully pretty lashes, and he’s thinking she’s a fairy again because there’s no way a monster could have such a gaze - and lowers herself to the ground, cupping her hands and dipping them into the stream. She drinks as he watches warily; one mouthful, two, three, and then she wipes her mouth at the back of her frayed sleeve and turns to look at him again.

She smiles at him again, teeth no longer red, and somehow it makes her look awfully sad. “I wasn’t supposed to be born.”

“Everyone alive is supposed to be born,” he argues, and his sword lowers even more.

“Not me,” she says, and splashes water at him, almost playfully. He jumps, startled. “Now you answer me. What’s a golden fairytale child like you doing in these woods?”

He feels oddly vulnerable standing up while she’s sitting, so he lowers himself besides her. “I got lost,” he admits. “Would you happen to know the way back?”

She throws her head back in a loud, hearty laugh. “Does it  _ look _ like I’m able to go anywhere?”

His eyes flicker to her chains. “Oh,” he awkwardly says. “Right. My bad.”

In the moment he’d drawn his eyes away from her, she’d gone back to studying him. He resists the urge to squirm under her heavy gaze.

At last, she closes her eyes and sighs. “I might be able to help you, though. As long as you do me a favour.”

_ Anything _ , he almost says, but he’s grown up listening to all sorts of tales and knows that it is not something you should say to anyone of dubious origins. “What is it?”

Her eyes catch his again, and he finds himself stumbling into their silvery depths, caught in the storm trapped inside of them. “Pretend you never met me.”

 

***

 

He makes it back to Ever After High. Sore, with tiny cuts all over him, and with one crown less that when he had entered the Enchanted Forest, but  _ alive - _ and in one piece, which he’s grateful for more than anything.

Per the possible-fairy’s instructions, he had followed something furry and quite fast, something that had dashed its way into the woods with such agility that Daring had never quite managed to discern what kind of creature or animal it was. Kind of like the fairytale that had ordered him to follow it, in fact. Daring was just glad it hadn’t led him to a trap - or eaten him, for that matter.

Apple flutters around him in the way she always does, patting his hair back into place and removing stray leaves from his clothes while asking  _ where have you been? _ ; Dexter looks at him worriedly but doesn’t say anything. Daring wonders if he looks any different than usual, changed by a small trek into the woods; he doesn’t dare to ask and confirm it. His name is Daring Charming, and while until recently he had been certain both his names fit him like a finely-made glove, now he’s not so sure.

He bats Apple’s careful hands away, not unkindly, and settles back into his chair. “Do you guys know if there isn’t any fairytale that isn’t supposed to be born?”

Apple scoffs at this, and he realizes he’d been expecting her to do so. Her response is also expected. “Of course not. As long as everyone follows their destinies, nothing of that sort can go wrong.”

Dexter seems to be thinking his reply through. “I don’t think so. Though there can be unexpected births, like Poppy - she doesn’t have a destiny to follow, but that doesn’t mean that she wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be born. Is that what you meant?”

Daring shakes his head. “Not quite. I-- I don’t really know what I meant. Excuse me. I should probably go and wash up.”

Because this is not a thing he can discuss with his friends, he realizes. He’s made a promise, and even if he hadn’t, he wants to keep the girl in the woods a secret for a little while longer. A secret just for himself.

Daring thinks that maybe he has truly changed a bit after getting lost in the woods.  _ Maybe _ . And maybe, just _ maybe _ , that’s not a bad thing.

 

***

 

He goes back.

He takes a basket full of fruit and pastries - courtesy of Ginger Breadhouse, whom a lot of people - mostly Rebels - have assured him is up to no evil - and bruise cream with him, and wanders into the Dark Forest again. This time, purposefully.

Daring Charming tries his hardest not to think about how foolish he’s being.

Firstly, he’s going into the Dark Forest.  _ Again _ . By himself. Into the  _ Dark Forest _ . Enough said.

Secondly,  _ he still has no idea what he’s doing _ . He doesn’t know the way back to the clearing, or back  _ outside _ the clearing; he has no idea how to even orientate himself at all _ \-  _ one of the only things they’d learnt about the Dark Forest - other than ‘ _ never go there _ ’ - was that typical methods of orientation don’t work there. Something about the trees, or the strange magic of the creatures living in it, or the very cursed atmosphere of the place.

Still, Daring’s making his way into it, whistling in a display of good mood even as his gut clenches in anxiety. The path is becoming darker and darker as he goes, and he can’t remember whether he’s been through it before or not, which doesn’t serve to alleviate his fear in the slightest. There are a great deal of dangerous creatures beyond chained damsels in the Dark Forest, after all, and Daring quickens his pace when he thinks of them.

And then, rain starts to fall.

He’s soaked in minutes; the water blurs his vision to the point he can’t tell apart the shadows and the trees anymore. Daring starts to think that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea when he stumbles over a root and, in his attempt to right himself, ends up knee-deep in a stream.

A very  _ familiar _ stream, it turns out, and he isn’t sure whether to be grateful about it or to whine and grimace at his wet socks.

But then there are hands at his throat and a snarl echoing in his ears and whatever gratefulness he might have had is gone. His hands claw at the ones wrapped around his neck as he tries to wheeze in air, and Daring thinks that they  _ really _ should start learning more about unarmed combat instead of simple dragon-slaying in Heroics 101.

“What are you doing back here?” hisses a raspy voice by his ear, and he knows just who it belongs to. The hand that had been inching towards his sword falls flat.

“Came back to visit,” he replies cheerfully - or  _ would have _ , if his air supply wasn’t running dangerously low.

“Ugh.”

He’s being dropped to the ground - fortunately not into the stream, or he would have wet underpants to match his wet socks - and he has just enough presence of mind to throw back his unoccupied hand to soften his fall. She’s snarling at him, in a way that resembles more a wolf than a fairy, and he suppresses a shiver; from the cold or from the cruel glint in her eyes, he doesn’t know.

“W--” he coughs, trying to get feeling back in his throat. “What was that for? You were fine with me a few days ago.”

“Not  _ fine _ ,” she says, not dropping her aggressive position, and he realizes quite stupidly that he never caught her name. “But I didn’t know you were with  _ them. _ ”

Daring tries not to look as confused as he feels - confused is not a good look on him. “ _ Them? _ ”

She points to his jacket - soaked, heavy, and one he had forgotten to bring on his last trip to the woods. “Ever After High.” The words are spat out like they’re poisonous, as bitter as hemlock and as rotten as the core of the Evil Queen’s apples, and Daring wonders at them.

“I’ve never known anyone who didn’t like Ever After High.”

“Yeah, well.” She sneers at him. “Maybe because everyone who disagrees with their politics ends up locked away. Trapped, lost,  _ forgotten _ .”

Daring is many things, and stupid is not one of them. “Like you?”

Her fists curl at her sides, under the dry comfort of her hood. “Like my  _ parents _ . I was collateral damage.”

He tries to think of a single thing that could have resulted in a damsel being locked away for the crimes of her parents, of a thing that would have caused her parents to be punished in such a way in the first place. His mind frantically pushes past reasons, excuses, explanations; none of them seem good enough.

She looks young, about his age - just a teenager, but the too-short sleeves of her clothing and the frayed aspect of the material tell him a tale of a long, lost time.

When he speaks next, his voice comes out in a whisper. “How long have you been here?”

Her expression closes off. “Long enough. Now give me  _ one good reason  _ why I shouldn’t throw you to the wolves.”

He panics. “I brought cookies?”

She stares at him blankly. “What.”

“They’re charmed to stay warm?”

She purses her lips.

“ _ And  _ they’re chocolate chip.” He realizes belatedly she might not even know what chocolate  _ is _ .

“...Fine.” She casts him one more distrustful glance, pulling her hood further above her head to shield herself better from the rain. “We have a truce.  _ For now _ .”

 

***

 

She makes him eat the first cookie, randomly selected, watching every move he makes until the cookie is safely going past his throat. Then, she snatches the basket away from him, and wolfs down the treats at a remarkable speed, moaning at the taste of chocolate in her tongue. He has to blink the sound away, sure that it will come back and haunt him in the nights, and he tries not to focus on her - on her lips, her teeth, her narrowed eyes with dark lashes dampened by the rain.

He fails.

Daring is still staring by the time she finishes the last of it, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you waiting for the poison to work or something?”

He’s startled out of his thoughts. “Poison?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why else would I make you eat one first?”

“Oh.” He had thought it might have been the case, but her eyes distracted him from any suspicions he might have had. “So. Uh. What do I call you?”

Her reply is quick. “What do I call  _ you _ ?”

“Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you?” Daring sighs when she doesn’t reply. “I’m Daring. Can you answer me  _ now? _ ”

He doesn’t add that he’s a Charming, or quite possibly the future ruler of the land if he ends up in Apple’s tale after all - Daring figures that after her reaction at the Ever After High emblem embossed in his jacket, she wouldn’t take to those news all too well. For the first time, Daring feels something akin to gratefulness at having lost his crown.

She snorts at his name, ducking further under her hood. He tries to ignore how wet and cold he feels, and how wet and cold she must be all the time while trapped in her clearing. Then, she mutters something, so low that he almost doesn’t catch it.

“What was that?” he asks, though he’s almost sure he had caught what she said.  _ Cerise.  _ “Is that your name?”

She plays with the tips of her hair, and he notices that it’s oddly bicoloured. Brown and white, white and brown; the colours of tree bark and moonlight playing in her hair. “It’s what is left of it.”

Daring feels that twinge of guilt again - guilt that he has no business feeling, since  _ he didn’t do anything  _ \- but it clenches at his heart like the metal fist of the mightiest of armours. Fairytales are defined by their names, by their parents, by their  _ stories _ \- and the person in front of him has been robbed of all that.

He busies himself with looking at the red fabric stretched above their makeshift picnic site. It’s another hood, big and spelled to keep water away, and he wonders how someone trapped in the woods has access to such a thing. “For what is worth,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She -  _ Cerise,  _ his mind supplies - doesn’t ask what he’s apologizing for, though that might be obvious; she doesn’t accept or reject his apology, either. Instead, she leans back against a tree, rubbing at the places where her chains are chafing at her skin.

“You should probably go,” she says. “The rain is letting up, and people are probably already searching for you.”

He reaches for the basket, searching inside for a small tube; he hands it to her. “Doubtful,” he says as he watches her sniff at the its contents. “I’m not exactly a main character to any story. My role is a secondary one at most.”

Cerise takes a bit of the ointment and examines it against the low light. “That doesn’t mean you’re not important. That doesn’t mean you don’t have  _ friends. _ ”

There goes the guilt again. Daring thinks of Apple, of Dexter, of Darling, of Briar, even of Raven and the other Rebels, and thinks that maybe he’s exaggerating a bit.

He takes the tube from her in a graceful, practised movement, and grasps her tiny hand in his. “You’re right. I apologize, what I meant was that none of them would be as concerned as to look for me right away; after all, there aren’t many issues that need  _ me  _ to solve them. Perhaps in the morning, if I miss my classes.”

She allows him to pull her sleeve back, and he takes a small amount of ointment in his finger. It smells strongly of herbs and medicine, and Daring is gentle as he applies it to the redness of her skin, sliding it under and around the shackles. There are scars around her wrists - circular, large, deep, and mostly healed - and he wonders yet again at how long she has been shackled to this place. And at how long it had been until she had stopped trying to leave.

Her skin is soft under his touch; he finds himself caressing it mindlessly even after all the important areas are treated. Her eyes are burning the top of his head, making the tips of his ears go red, and Daring thinks that maybe he should feel more self-conscious about it beyond simple blushing. He doesn’t want to move his hands away from her, not if she’ll allow him to keep them there, so he takes more ointment from the tube and moves to the other wrist, massaging it gently as well.

The balm is nearly all absorbed by her skin by the time he decides it’d be too awkward to keep at it, so he keeps his head down when he asks, “Do-- Uh, are your ankles also chafed?” His voice cracks embarrassingly; he wants to hide behind a tree and spend the rest of his life there.

Cerise’s hands move to her boots - ratty boots, falling apart at the seams and without half the sole, and he’s not quite sure how she had even put on in the first place, but he figures that the chains must be enchanted in some way beyond their resistance and place of origin - and her fingers almost begin to unlace them before she stops.

“I--” She interrupts herself, and he dares to look up just to catch her chewing on her already bruised lips. The chocolate stain is still there, and he almost reaches to wipe it away before he remembers that it’s probably not the best course of action, especially since she barely seems to trust him as it is. “I’ll do it myself. As I said, you should probably go - there isn’t much rain now, but there’s a thunderstorm coming.”

His eyes widen. “A thunderstorm? Are  _ you _ going to be alright?”

She stares blankly at him, and Daring is reminded yet again of how long she might have been chained to this place. “I’ll live.”

He’s getting up and removing his jacket before she can say anything else, shivering at the cold drops that land on his back. “At least take my jacket,” he says. “It’s wet but--”

She throws the cloak that had been serving as their shelter at his face before he can even begin to hand her the jacket. “You’re at more risk of getting a cold than I am. Take my cloak.”

“But you  _ need  _ it,” he protests, even though the material feels terribly warm and dry in his hands. “I can’t just--”

“ _ Take it _ ,” she orders in a tone that tells him she won’t take a ‘no’ for an answer, handing him his basket as well. “I have enough to keep me warm, and then some. You can keep it.”

Daring tries to protest once more - it’s terribly ungentlemanly to just  _ leave  _ her there and take one of her few possessions, after all - but she shoves him towards the edge of the clearing before he can get a word in.

“Go,” she says, and he goes.

 

***

 

Hopper eyes him strangely when he enters their room - clothes mostly soaked, Daring himself torn between shivering and burying his head further in the red material of the cloak, and with what is probably the least handsome smile he has ever shown anyone but his family. It’s enough to have his roommate worried, and he goes to fetch Dexter even though Daring does his best to protest.

“I’m fine, really,” he says, and Hopper gives him a dubious look.

“D-Daring, you’re never  _ fine, _ ” he says, hand on the doorknob. “You’re fabulous, or a-amazing, or something along these l-lines. You’re just p-proving me  _ right. _ ”

He’s out of the door before Daring can say anything else, so he decides to at least change out of his wet socks before he catches a cold. Daring doesn’t notice that he hasn’t taken the cloak off yet until Hopper - once again in frog form - returns with his brother and Dexter points it out.

“Do cloaks grow on trees nowadays?” Dexter is being sarcastic, but even Daring can detect the note of worry beneath it. “Daring, you only ever wear red on special occasions. What’s going on?”

Daring feels a nearly irresistible urge to pull the hood over his head and hide beneath its fabric. “Nothing,” he says instead.

“I--” Dexter sighs. “Is it a girl or something?”

Daring shifts his eyes to the side. “No?”

Dexter picks up one of the pillows on his brother’s bed at tosses it at him. “You’re a  _ terrible  _ liar. Is it a boy, then?”

Daring throws the pillow back in the bed. “No.”

“Ah, so it  _ is _ a girl. But this isn’t normal behaviour for you, girl or not.”

Hopper intercedes from his perch on the desk, looking as sleepy as a frog can possibly look. “Perhaps our fair companion has found himself trapped within the heavy clutches of love.”

The brothers side-eye each other.

“Well?” Dexter asks.

“No!” Daring says quickly - perhaps far too quickly for it to be believable. He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to think of how dishevelled and unprincely it must be. “I’d tell you if I could. Just-- Trust me on this.  _ Please. _ ”

He’s guided to the bed, a towel shoved into his hand before he can say anything else. Dexter’s blue eyes, so like his own, stare at him from behind his glasses.

“Daring,” Dexter says. “It’s not like you to keep secrets, so this must be something really important. But-- If you  _ ever  _ need help with it, or need to talk about it - well, just know we’re here for you.”

Daring reaches one hand out to tousle his brother’s hair. His crown falls over one eye, clanking against the glasses, and Daring is reminded of his own lost one. “Thank you, bro. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dexter mutters some curse words as he rightens his crown. Then, he looks up, and his features twist into a pensive expression. “You have your dorky smile on, by the way.”

“My  _ what? _ ” Daring’s hands fly to his face.

“Your--” Dexter gestures vaguely around his mouth. “Really, there’s no other way to describe it. It’s something like--” Here his eyes scrunch up a little, his nose wrinkles slightly, and his mouth forms a lopsided, crooked version of a grin. It’s kind of endearing, but not quite  _ charming _ , and Daring feels the tips of his ears burn in mortification.

He tries not to look as horrified as he feels. “Do I seriously do that?”

Dexter shrugs. “Only on occasion. I’m pretty sure only Darling and I have seen it-- Along with whichever damsel you’ve been seeing.”

The red spreads from his ears to the rest of his face. Daring is quite sure he has never blushed so much in his life. “Grimmdamn it.”

Dexter awkwardly pats his back. “It’s odd being the one that is not embarrassing himself. Not that you  _ are  _ embarrassing yourself, but you  _ do  _ look embarrassed so--”

Daring groans.

“I’ll shut up now.” Dexter offers him a quick smile. “I should go back to my room anyway. Will you be okay?”

Daring shrugs. “I’m always okay.”

“Not really,” Dexter says, hesitating by the door. “But I think that sometimes you’re so wrapped up in being the perfect prince that you don’t really allow yourself to think about it.”

Daring stays silent. Dexter leaves.

His clothes are still wet; he removes them methodically, not wanting to leave the warmth of the hood - still blissfully, magically dry - but not wanting to keep the soaked fabric of the rest on his body, either. His nightclothes feel odd against his skin, as if he’d gotten used to the dampness and the smell of the woods that is missing on them. Daring folds the cloak to his best ability - having dedicated servants to attend to his every whim hadn’t allowed him to create good housekeeping habits, but he tries.

He stares at the red material for a long time, zoning out Hopper’s light snores as he strokes it. Finally, he lays it beneath his pillow, and thinks of everything that he has discovered since first meeting Cerise in the Dark Forest.

It’s a long time before Daring falls asleep.

  
  


***

  
  


For the next few days, it rains.

Daring stares despondently out of the windows during classes, eyeing the grey expanse above as if his intense glare would make it go away. He tolerates rain most of the time - it’s not his favourite kind of weather, and it keeps him from training outside and from riding his dragon and from exploring the grounds in search of adventure, but it’s generally not so  _ bad _ \- but today anxiety has a grip on his heart, on his lungs, making his mouth taste bitter with worry.

Thunder crackles in the sky, and Daring flinches. At his side, Dexter pokes him.

“What’s with you?” he whispers. “You’ve never minded rain.”

Daring thinks of the warm red cloak stuffed in his backpack, of the Dark Forest and all its shadows, of streams overflowing and people without anywhere to run from it.

“Nothing,” he says. “I was just thinking we won’t have Track and Shield practice after this.”

His brother snorts in response. “That’s an understatement. Just-- try to at least  _ act  _ normal, or everyone will be wondering what you’re up to.”

Somehow, Daring doubts it. He might be one of the most popular fairytales of Ever After High, but he’s not the kind that people  _ talk with  _ and get to know. One flash of his smile will send most of them away, and for once he’s terribly grateful for it.

Still, a terrible chill seems to have settled on his bones. He thinks of the cloak on his backpack again, wonderfully warm and smelling of forest musk, and he wonders.

He puts it on.

 

***

 

Apple stops in her tracks when she sees him.

“Daring,” she says, and she’s using the kind of voice she uses with Raven and the other Rebels - semi-condescending, as if talking to a child who is most definitely in the wrong - and he feels a surge of irritation. He suddenly understands why Raven gets annoyed at her roommate so often. “What in Ever After are you  _ wearing? _ ”

He shrugs. “A cloak.”

She eyes him up and down, doing her best to keep a grimace off her face. She fails. “If you can call it  _ that _ .”

It’s not princely or gentlemanly to be so irritated at a damsel, so he tries to stomp it down. “Do you have a point with this?”

“Red’s not really your colour,” she says, and then flinches back from her own words. But she keeps going. “And capes aren’t really  _ in  _ at the moment. You’re not even wearing your _ crown. _ ”

Daring looks at her short sleeves and sandals, wondering how the girl can even say such things without her teeth chattering. “It’s warm. I like it, so I’m wearing it. Maybe you should get one as well, you certainly look cold enough for it.”

He’s walking away before he realizes he’s doing it, ignoring Apple’s spluttered “ _ Daring! _ ”. It’s only after he’s halfway down the corridor that he realizes that he hadn’t been gentlemanly at all, and that Apple being cold probably meant that he should have offered either the cloak or his jacket to keep her warm. His father would cut his dragon-riding privileges for a month if he knew, but somehow he’s not too bothered about it.

He slides the cloak’s hood over his head, and walks away.

 

***

 

The rain has finally stopped, and Daring Charming looks at the cloak in his hand contemplatively.

It’s not a normal cloak, he had thought so from the start; with such suspicious origins, he would be more surprised if it was made of regular, unspelled material. But the cloak has proven to be much more than he had expected, worthy of being the main item of a good fairytale; it doesn’t tear even when great force is applied to it, remains dry even if dunked in a bathtub full of water, and - Daring’s most recent discovery - allows him to travel through shadows unseen when the hood is up. His curiosity over Cerise’s destined fairytale seems to double every second that passes.

He’s out of the castle and back into the forest soon enough.

This time she doesn’t jump at him from the shadows, her hands don’t wrap around his neck, and he doesn’t end up knee-deep in the stream. In fact, the clearing itself seems rather empty, and he shivers. Could she have freed herself? But no, if it was that easy she would have done it long ago. He doesn’t want to think of the other alternative - one that brings deadly dark creatures into mind, or perhaps a stream turned into a strong river--

Something touches the back of his neck, and he defies his vocal range by letting out a high-pitched scream.

Cerise is on the ground laughing at him when he turns back, face burning with embarrassment. He points a finger at her. “You did  _ not  _ hear that.”

She laughs harder.

He pulls the edges of the hood further down his face, for once understanding her habit of doing so. “Shut up,” he mutters, and tries not to think of how his face most likely matches the hood at the moment.

Cerise clearly isn’t going to stop laughing any time soon, so he huffs his way to the nearest tree and leans against it. He groans when the ground beneath turns out to be squishy with water and mud; it immediately soaks into his pants on the places that the cloak isn’t protecting. Daring decides he’s had enough for the afternoon, so he opens the basket and takes out one of the still-warm treats inside.

“Just because of that,” he threatens in her general direction. “I’m going to eat  _ all  _ of these delicious pastries. All by myself, because you can’t get off your arse and stop laughing.”

That gets her to stop, and she throws a pout in his direction.

“You’re terrible,” she complains as she walks to his side. “A little kid, that’s what you are.”

Daring makes a show of biting into the chocolate cupcake and moaning in delight.

“ _ Terrible _ ,” she repeats, and snatches the cupcake from his hand.

“You’re stealing treats from a child, then,” he teases.

She offers him a quick smirk before biting into the cupcake as well. “I never claimed to be good.”

“You never claimed to be bad, either,” he points out, and tries to steal back the cupcake. He fails. “Did the ointment help, by the way?”

She studies him from one long moment. “Yes,” she finally says. “It did. Thank you.”

For some reason, he can’t bear to look her in the eye. “I’m glad.”

They settle in a mostly comfortable silence as they eat. The sun is still high in the sky, even though the fog and the shadows that are ever-present in the Dark Forest seem to dim it, and Daring leans back to bask on the few sunrays that make it into the clearing.

“Daring?” she asks softly. “How did you find me?”

He opens an eye in her direction; her grey eyes gaze into his. “I got lost.”

“No, I know that.” Her stare only seems to get more intense. “I mean _how_ did you find me?”

He doesn’t know what she’s getting at. “What do you mean?”

Cerise gestures around them, encompassing the whole clearing. “I’ve been here for  _ years _ . This place has all kinds of protections to keep me in - and to keep other people  _ out _ . The only person who can get in here besides Milton Grimm is Grandma, and that’s because she’s of my blood.”

_ Milton Grimm _ . The confirmation of her captor’s name makes his stomach churn. For the first time, he considers that Raven might be right about him and the lies he’s been telling them since they were born. He vows to himself to discover the truth.

But right now is not the time for that. Cerise is waiting for an answer, so he furrows his brow as he thinks. “It might be because of my family.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Your family?”

Daring thinks back on all the Charmings before him - dragon slayers, curse-breakers, adventurers of all sorts. “We’ve been breaking curses since forever after - maybe at some point there stopped being a difference between us breaking the curse and the curse being broken because of us arriving.”

Her stare hasn’t let up, and he feels the tips of his ears starting to heat up again.  _ Not now _ , he thinks fervently to himself.  _ Please, not again _ .

“What kind of story do you have, Daring the Curse-breaker?” she mutters, but he doesn’t think it’s an actual question. He offers no reply.

 

***

 

Milton Grimm turns pale when he sees him, and Daring wonders why until he remembers he’s still wearing Cerise’s hood.

“Good evening, Headmaster Grimm.” He’s panicking internally; in an effort not to let it show he smiles his widest and shiniest.

The Headmaster blinks back, dazed. “Ah, yes, good evening, Daring. May I ask what you’re wearing?”

Daring has to contain the urge to shrug. “A cloak. I figure that it’s rather regal, no? All knights and kings wear cloaks, so I figured I should start wearing them in, uh, preparation for the future.”

“Ah,” Milton Grimm says in response, looking far more relieved. “Still, it’s quite odd to see you wearing something so--  _ different _ . And where has your crown gone?”

He hesitates. “It’s being polished.”

Daring Charming isn’t used to lying, much less to authority figures, and he can’t help the guilt that curls up in his stomach. Still, knowing Cerise’s past with the man and all the despicable acts he might or might not have committed are enough to make him keep grinning his best smile and stomp down on the guilt.

“I should get going, actually,” Daring says as he sidesteps the older man. “Training, and all that.”

“Of course, of course.” The Headmaster backs away in order to let him through. “Have a good evening, Mr. Charming.”

“You too, Headmaster.”

 

***

 

He’s out of breath by the time he reaches Cerise’s clearing.

She eyes him oddly, stepping out of the shadows. “What’s with you?”

“Troll,” he pants out. “I forgot the Dark Forest is supposed to have  _ dark creatures _ , my mistake.”

“Oh,” she furrows her brow. “I’ll have to have a talk with them again. I very clearly told them to leave you alone.”

“You  _ what _ ?”

She waves his concerns away. “No matter.”

“Wait, no, how in Ever After do you--”

Her eyes flash to him, and he can almost swear they look gold for a moment. He’s frozen in place. “I  _ said _ , no matter.”

“I--” He gulps, for some reason feeling his gut clench at the thought of asking again. He’s Daring Charming - supposedly the bravest, most charming prince in existence since his father, but right now he feels nothing of the sort. “Never mind.”

She turns her back on him, walking back towards the tree line. One of these days he’ll ask her how she lives - where she sleeps, how she keeps warm, how she finds food - but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not after her look had made his limbs freeze in something that could almost pass as  _ fear _ .

“One of these days,” he whispers to himself. “You’ll have to tell me what else keeps you in this place.”

Cerise is far enough away that she’s not supposed to have heard him, but she replies anyway. “Beyond the chains, you mean?”

He startles. “I-- Yes.”

She looks back at him, gaze warm again. “Come with me.”

He does.

By the time he reaches her she’s passed the first trees outside the clearing; she comes to a halt soon after. He follows the direction her finger is pointing, noticing how slender yet strong-looking her hands are.

“What am I looking for?” he asks, in an attempt to distract himself from her.

“Look in the ground,” she says in response, her voice lower and raspier than before. “In the treetops. In the bushes.”

Daring crouches down, letting his hand caress the dirt of the forest floor. He’s resigned to not finding anything beside rotten leaves and broken branches when his fingers touch something  _ else _ .

He pulls it out, and Cerise immediately backs away.

“Don’t bring it here,” she hisses.

“Sorry,” he says, but he’s busy inspecting the thing in his hand. It can’t quite be called a braid, but there are tiny purple flowers - fresh-looking, though Daring knows they can’t be - weaved together with with hair around a silver-tipped, rusty-looking nail. And all of it is spotted with something red-brown, something that looks remarkably like--

“Is this  _ blood? _ ”

Cerise doesn’t answer. Daring isn’t sure he wants to know, anyway.

He turns to her. “Do you think if I remove them all you’ll be able to leave?”

She’s sat down on the ground, pulling the edges of her cloak together. Like this, he can barely see the shackles around her wrists. “I don’t know. I’d still have the chains, anyway.”

“Do you think it’s worth a try?”

“Maybe,” she says. “But they’re all over the place. You’d never be able to find them all.”

“We have time.” _ No, we don’t, _ Daring thinks. Another year and he’s out of Ever After High, bound to a fairytale he’s not sure is even his, off to be married to Apple and reduced to a background character after saving her.

“Why are you even trying to set me free?” Cerise’s voice is nearly a shout, startling him into dropping the nail back to the ground. “Why are you doing this? What do you even  _ gain _ from this?”

“What?” He doesn’t even try not to look bewildered. “Cerise, I don’t gain anything with this--”

“Then  _ why  _ are you doing this?” She sounds almost supplicant, and he’s hit with the thought that since being imprisoned there had been no one else to show her kindness besides her Grandma. “You have your fairytale, your destiny - you don’t  _ have  _ to get messed up in this.”

“I  _ want _ to,” Daring says, and it tastes like the truth. “I don’t have to, but I want to. This is wrong--  _ you _ being locked up here is wrong, especially since you didn’t even do anything. I don’t know what your parents did, but Raven Queen’s mother took over other fairytales and poisoned Wonderland and yet Raven isn’t chained in the Dark Forest like you are. I’ve been brought up to fight evil, and - to me, at least - locking up a kid and waiting for them to die for something their parents did sounds quite evil to me.”

Her lips are parted, red and bruised, and he can’t help but let him eyes linger over them for a second. “Daring,” she finally says. “What is your fairytale?”

He can’t look at her in the eye. The trees of the Dark Forest seem darker now, more menacing. “I-- I’m the eldest son of King Charming.”

A sigh, the size of the world, and he dares to take a quick glance at her. Her eyes are closed, and she looks utterly, completely defeated.

“You should go.”

 

***

 

Cerise wasn’t as angry as Daring had thought she would be.  _ It’s not that I’m not your-- friend-- anymore _ , she had said, hesitant over what to call their tentative relationship.  _ But I need to think. And I can’t do that with you around _ .

So, he’d left. And now he’s lost again in the Dark Forest, as if whatever blessing that had been bestowed upon him - _ something _ that allowed him to find his way in the darkest of woods, make the path form before his feet - had left him. No rustles accompany him or guide him on his way; the forest is oddly silent and Daring is, once again, shamefully afraid.

No, not  _ shamefully _ . Though King Charming had always said that being afraid was half the way to becoming a coward, Daring had always thought that, to be truly brave, one had to face their fears - and to face fears, being afraid came first. Daring Charming would not be ashamed of anything, especially not of his feelings. Yet...

He clenches a fist over his heart, over where a smaller emblem of Ever After High is embroidered on his jacket, and it reminds him of what has his head boiling over with restless thoughts.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to himself. “Everything should be as simple as to follow our destinies. Why  _ this _ ?”

Daring had always stuck by his destiny, no matter if there were parts of it he didn’t - and doesn’t - completely agree with. Something in him _rebels_ , tells him that he’s meant for something _more_ than to fade away after rescuing his damsel, something other than to stay holed up in his castle for the rest of his existence while Apple runs their kingdom with kindness and fairness. He yearns for action, for battle, for actual leadership, for something _else_ , something _more_ , and now he thinks he might understand the Rebels after all.

Milton Grimm has done something terrible in the name of keeping their destinies as they have always been, and now Daring wonders how many other terrible acts of the sort had been done under their noses.

_ Raven _ , he decides _. As soon as I reach the school, I’ll talk to Raven _ . Daring has never interacted with the Evil Queen’s daughter a lot - for the most part just standing to the side while someone else - generally Apple - talked to her, but from what he’s seen since he’s started paying attention, she doesn’t take after her mother. At all. And now Daring is terribly grateful for it.

He slides the hood back on; as soon as he does - or perhaps because he’s finally reached a decision - the spaces between the trees widen, and light comes through.

“Oh,” he says, and wonders whether this is also something that happened because of the damsel in the woods. Anything to do with Cerise seems to set things in motion; Daring thinks that she either has a fairy godmother or is a fairy herself, like he had thought when he had first seen her.

No matter; he has a goal set in mind for now. Whether she’s a fairy or a princess or a witch or something else won’t matter until she’s set free and Milton Grimm offers an explanation for his actions. Daring tightens his grip around the basket, feeling the weight of the rusty nail inside it and the power of the spell it carries.

It’s time to find Raven Queen.

 

***

 

Daring finds the Evil Queen’s daughter talking with Apple White, and from Raven’s scowl it seems about to turn into yet another argument about destiny very soon. He steps in.

“Apple,” he greets. “Raven. Could I have a word with you for a moment?”

Apple seems about to follow them into the direction he’s pointing to, but he shakes his head at her.

“It’s about evil-fighting and such,” he lies. “You’d find it boring. Also, I heard Briar was looking for you.”

Apple perks up. “Oh?” she asks, and flutters away in search of her friend.

Daring watches her go until he’s sure she won’t be able to tell where they’re going, and then makes a grab for Raven’s wrist and pulls her in the opposite direction he had pointed to.

She’s looking inquisitively at him by the time he closes the door of the empty classroom behind them. “What’s up with you?”

He chuckles wearily. “You have no idea how much I’ve been hearing that question lately.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No offence or anything, but I’m not really the kind of person that generally hangs around you.”

“Right.” Daring runs a hand through his hair, wishing that he had the hood on for comfort. “You’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”

“You could say that.”

“I-- How do I even put this?” He slumps against the door, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

Raven takes the chance to sit on a desk nearby. “I’ve never heard you sound unsure.”

Daring raises his eyes. “That’s because I’m  _ never  _ unsure. At least until these past three weeks or so.”

“Oh?” She tips her head slightly to the side. “Maybe you should start there, then.”

He shakes her head. “I can’t. I promised not to tell anyone about it, so I won’t.”

Raven furrows her brow. “I don’t see how I can help you, then.”

“I--” Daring licks his lips nervously. “Do you know if Headmaster Grimm has ever done something-- unsavoury?”

“Other than the whole destiny thing?” Raven asks dryly. “Yes.”

His head whips up. “Really?”

Her fingertips trace something on the desk she’s sitting on; perhaps a drawing or a signature of someone who had previously sat there. “Did you know Headmaster Grimm has a brother?”

“Well, yes.” It’s his turn to furrow his brow. “But he’s been missing or dead for ages, right?”

“Not dead,” Raven says rather grimly. “More like locked away.”

“ _ Locked away? _ ” Daring rightens himself, eyes wide. “Where?”

Raven’s gaze is sharp. “What exactly are you going to do with this information?”

“Nothing bad, I swear.” He does his best to make sure he’s looking her in the eye when he says, “Charming’s word.”

Her eyes are still narrowed, but at least they don’t gleam with distrust anymore. “He’s down at the Vault of Lost Tales. Headmaster Grimm cast a babble spell on him, so Maddie’s the only one who understands what he’s saying. But Daring - why in Ever After are you interested in this?”

He looks away. “I’ve found a few things myself.”

“About the Headmaster?”

“And things he’s done. One more thing--” Daring searches his basket until his fingers graze what he’s looking for. “Could you advise me on a spell?”

Raven winces. “I’m not the best person to ask about spells. Every time I try to cast a spell with good intentions--”

“It always backfires, I know,” Daring interrupts. “But I don’t want you to cast anything. Just to tell me what you think of something.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Raven concedes. “What is it?”

He tightens his grip around the weaved materials, not wanting to give away even a small part of his secret. But he wants to help Cerise, he really does, so he reluctantly hands it to Raven.

She has a curious look in her eye as she looks at it, letting her hands caress the small flowers. “This isn’t a normal spell, not to mention it’s charged enough to last for decades. Where did you find this?”

“I can’t say.”

“Oh,” she says. “Same reason why you can’t tell me what happened three weeks ago?”

He shifts in place, uncomfortable. “Something like that.”

She raises her head to look at him. “Daring, do you know what these flowers are?”

Daring shakes his head.

“Aconite,” Raven clarifies. “Also known as wolfsbane. Poisonous, but it’s mostly used to keep away anything not human. It would probably harm anything of the sort that got too close.”

“So it’s keeping creatures out?”

“Or  _ in _ . Also,” she says, taking a closer look at the bundle in her hand. “There’s a rusty nail in here, so it’s definitely a barrier spell - nails are used to bind and ward, and to curse. The blood and the hair specify it even more, though I can’t tell if they’re from one or more people. Daring--” She looks up at him. “What in Ever After did you get yourself into?”

He snatches back the bundle, not willing to answer any questions. “I’m just trying to right a wrong.”

Raven shakes her head. “I’m going to trust that you know what you’re doing. Just be careful, okay? This isn’t a harmless spell, and I’m betting that the intent of it wasn’t harmless, either.”

“I never thought it was.”

“Daring--”

“Just keep quiet about this.  _ Please _ .”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” She shakes her head again. “Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word of it. I was just--” She gestures towards him, to the cape and the basket and the lack of a crown in his head. “There was this tale I heard when I was a child, something about a red hood and a basket, and you’re reminding me of it - but I can’t recall it.”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, feeling his heart clench. “Can you let me know if you remember it? It’s important.”

“Sure.” Raven is agreeable, but he can’t bear to stay in the room with her any longer, fearing that he might just end up giving away everything he knows. He’s out the door without a farewell, thoughts running by his head faster than he can keep up.

 

***

 

Cerise stares at him like he’s prey; something in his gut clenches at the look in her eyes. She looks hungry, mad, as if someone had deprived her from eating anything for a week and now her favourite meal was dangling in front of her.

“You didn’t come back,” she accuses, eyes steady and predatory. Every muscle in her body is tense, poised for running, or fighting, or pouncing; Daring stays very quiet, sure that she’ll attack if he even dares to breath too much.

“I’m here right now.”

“It’s been  _ a week _ .”

“You said you wanted time to think!”

“I  _ did _ ,” she snarls. “But I’m stuck here with nothing else to do! How long did you think it took me to  _ think? _ ”

He winces. “I might have messed up.”

“No,  _ really _ ?” At least she’s relaxing now; he can see the muscles of her legs unclench as she straightens, and immediately looks away before she notices his staring. “You’re an idiot, Daring Charming.”

He tries not to sound too hopeful. “I found out some things about the spell?”

There is a hint of a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. “Maybe you’re not such an idiot, after all.”

They sit under the trees on what has become their unofficial spot of sorts, and Daring is suddenly unsettled. His eyes have caught the edge of the cape he’s taken to wearing - a magical, unique cape only comparable to the other ones he’s seen her wearing, an item that would surely take a special place in a story - and he’s stricken with the thought that maybe he’s taking away her fairytale by wearing it.

Cerise seems to catch onto his concern in that special way of hers; she frowns. “What’s with you?”

Daring caresses the edge of the cloak, a material that has become far too familiar for him lately. “This hood is part of your story, right?” She doesn’t need to confirm it, though, so he continues. “Am I not replacing you by wearing it?”

She laughs. It’s not a laugh free of worry, or as loud and free as it usually is, and so he knows that she’s thought about it too. “I have enough roles in stories not to have to worry about it, so you shouldn’t, either.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Roles? As in, plural?”

Cerise shoves her hand into his face in a playful gesture, and Daring notices that the reddened skin of her wrists is shining from recently-applied salve. “What did I just say? Also, you’re a Charming - you’re not exactly lacking in roles, either. Prince Charmings are absolutely  _ everywhere  _ in the stories, from what I hear.”

He hopes he doesn’t look bashful. “To be fair, half of us don’t even make it into a fairytale. The family is too big.”

She pouts mockingly at him. “Poor baby.”

“You’re terrible.” Daring can’t help the laugh that escapes from his mouth, unbidden.

“ _ Psh, _ ” is all she says in return, but she looks far more content like this, by his side as they lean back against the trees and feast on the food he brought. Daring wonders at how lonely she must have been, with only her Grandma as a very occasional company every two months - Cerise had told him that she made the way to the clearing as often as she could, but she was quite old and as the unofficial leader of her village she had a lot of work to do as it was. Daring had filled those tiny pieces of information away, for future reference.

He tells her about the spell.

Cerise doesn’t look too surprised. “I had a feeling it was something of the sort. An extra layer of protection, if I ever managed to break my chains.”

Daring looks at the tiny bundle he has left inside the basket - covered with a white handkerchief and an extra layer of napkins, so it hopefully wouldn’t affect his companion as much - and wonders at how such a small thing can have such a great effect. “How would one go about to doing that, anyway?”

Cerise offers him another of her hopeless laughs. “One doesn’t go about doing it at all. Believe me, I’ve  _ tried, _ ” she says, and pulls up her sleeves to show him her scarred wrists again, the silver lines stretching and curling around her arms as if lightning had struck her skin. Even though they’re covered by her boots, Daring guesses her ankles are the same. “Unless it’s done with one good, clean blow, every damage on the chains is also done on the person they’re binding.”

Daring pales.

She snorts at him. “My feelings exactly. Just-- don’t try to do anything. I’ve already accepted that I’m not getting out of here any time soon.”

“That’s not fair,” Daring says with a frown, and clenches his fists over a patch of grass. “I want to  _ do  _ something.”

Cerise smiles brilliantly at him, and somehow Daring feels more dazed than when he walks in front of a mirror after whitening his teeth. “Just keep bringing me more of those cupcakes, then.”

Her arms aren’t brushing his, but he feels their warmth from even this far away; his very skin vibrates with the distant heat. Daring knows, with more certainty than he ever felt on anything else, that he’ll never stop coming back if he can have these few, precious moments with her.

 

***

 

Daring sits himself across from Raven at the Castleteria.

She raises an eyebrow at him. He sighs.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, rolling his eyes. “If you were locked in a tower for years without anything or anyone to keep you company, and you suddenly had a choice, what would you want to be taken to you?”

Her eyebrow climbs higher. “Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically,” he confirms.

“Well,” she says. “It would probably depend on the person in question. Ahem, sorry, the  _ hypothetical  _ person in question. For example, if I wasn’t already dead by starvation or dehydration or anything of the sort, I’d probably like to be brought my MirrorPhone so I could listen to my music. But if you asked Maddie, for example, she’d probably want a couple new flavours of tea. As I said, it really depends on the person.”

“Oh,” Daring says, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “That makes it harder, then. Hypothetically.”

“Can I offer a suggestion?” Raven smiles. “You should just ask the person. It’s the best way to be sure. Hypothetically, of course.”

“That’s-- probably for the best.” Daring smiles back, making sure not to dazzle too much. “Thanks, Raven. I really don’t know why people think you’re so awful, you’re actually quite a nice person.”

Raven shrugs. “A lifetime of being taught to fear the Evil Queen lineage, I guess. Not to mention the whole Legacy Day thing. Most Royals don’t talk to me at all anymore.”

“That’s stupid,” Daring says, though he had been one of those very Royals until not very long ago. “I mean, none of us went  _ poof  _ when you didn’t sign, so--”

Raven snorts inelegantly. “People believe what they want to believe. Have you noticed that pretty much the only people who’re happy with their destinies are the ones that have happy endings? There are a couple of exceptions, of course, but most of us don’t exactly get to live happily ever after.”

Now Daring feels guilty again, even though yet again he doesn’t have much to do with the way things are done in Ever After High; but just the thought that he’d supported the very system that makes the people in his life unhappy is enough for his gut to twist into painful knots.

“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” he says, and he means it.

Her smile turns wistful. “So am I. But I’m glad you’ve started thinking that way. This person you’re meeting--”

Daring’s eyes widen. “I never said I--”

She spells his mouth shut. “This person you’re meeting, whoever it is, is helping you become a better person. I’m not going to ask who it is, nor try to find it on my own, nor tell anyone, so don’t worry about it.” Raven swishes her hand and he’s able to speak again. He stays silent. “But if you ever need help, just ask.”

 

***

 

Cerise’s thighs are brushing against his in a way that makes his brain go very, very  _ blank _ .

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Could you repeat that?”

She shoots him a look that is both amused and exasperated. “I  _ said  _ I don’t really need anything.”

“I’m not asking what you  _ need _ ,” he says. “I’m asking what you want. If we were going by what you need, we’d be trying to find a way to remove those shackles.”

She lets out an annoyed growl. He raises his hands defensively.

“Dropping the matter,” he says, in some semblance of an apology. “Just saying. But seriously, what would you like me to bring you?”

She picks at the edge of her hood. “I’m fine as it is. You shouldn’t have to run around getting things for me.”

“I want to,” he insists, and he wonders if he’d ever been this willing to go in help of others. “Please. I feel kind of useless like this.”

She snorts lightly. “Imagine how I feel.” Cerise looks at him, long lashes and grey eyes so intense that his throat becomes dry, and her gaze softens. “I appreciate your company a lot, though. And the pastries are always a plus. So, _ thank you _ . For everything.”

She sounds like she believes he’s going to stop coming soon enough. As if he’d grow bored of it, or forget about her, and the very thought makes him want to fight something. But her hand is close, so close, resting over her thigh, and instead of saying anything else he inches his towards hers instead. His pinkie touches hers, and she doesn’t pull away.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a tiny smile tug at the corner of her mouth. And, in that moment, Daring knows he’ll do whatever it takes to set her free.

 

***

 

Darling Charming is staring at her brother like she knows a secret, and Daring has to contain the urge not to wriggle in his seat.

“What is it?” he finally asks, sighing defeatedly. Charmings are made of rough stuff; the kind that break spells and withstands all kinds of attacks - yet one knowing look from his sister and he’s done for. “I have Bookball practice in ten minutes, so make it quick.”

Darling smiles like Kitty Cheshire on a good day. “Dexter says you’re seeing someone.”

_ How dare he?  _ Daring bristles. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Darling reaches out with one finger and pokes him in the nose. “You  _ definitely  _ are. You go missing at random times, change your wardrobe, don’t even flirt around like you used to--”

“You make it seem like I was leading people on,” Daring complains. His sister shrugs.

“You lead them on as much as I do - which is to say, not really. Most of them stick around because of the Charming lineage, not our actual personality.”

Daring thinks of Cerise, about how she hadn’t known about his family name until recently, and contains a smile. “You might want to give one of those poor idiots a chance one of these days.”

Darling scowls. “They all see me as a damsel in distress, not an equal.”

“Then meet someone new.” Daring smiles encouragingly at his sister. “Someone different. You don’t know your fairytale yet, so your destiny isn’t set in stone. There’s still time.”

Her face softens. “I hope so.” Her somber expression changes to a mischievous one so fast he’s left reeling. “But don’t try and change the topic. Who are you seeing?”

Daring stands up, gently ruffling his sister’s hair. “Maybe I found someone who doesn’t see me as just a Charming.”

Darling’s eyes glitter at him as he leaves.

 

***

 

“I brought gloves,” he announces, removing the items from his basket. “And a couple of blankets, and a pillow, and more ointment, and--”

“Did you bring the whole castle with you or something?” Cerise asks amusedly.

Daring grins at her sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure what to bring so I might have gone a little overboard.”

“Might?” Cerise echoes, staring at the pile of things on the forest floor. “I think you’re way past  _ might _ .”

He shrugs. “I wanted to make you more comfortable.” Then he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “Um. Also. You always smell really good and everything so I didn’t bring any toiletries but--”

She waves his concerns away with a sharp smile. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary. Grandma always brings those in bulk.”

Daring resigns himself to blushing in his little corner. Cerise laughs, probably at him, and he feels himself flushing further.

“I’m serious, though,” Cerise says, and there is a fleeting touch of something soft on his cheek, so fast he’s left wondering if he’s imagined it. But she’s also blushing a little, though it’s harder to tell under her darker skin - and, well...

From under his blush, Daring is pleased.

 

***

 

He’s not too sure when  _ this  _ became a thing, but he finds himself sneaking out to see his red-cloaked companion more often than he hangs out with his friends.

Sadly enough, most of them don’t seem to notice.

But Raven does. “Okay,” she says, crossing her arms as she stares at him. “I thought you should be aware that you’re not being subtle at all.”

Daring resists the urge to pout. “No one has noticed so far.”

“That you  _ know  _ of,” she points out. “People don’t always mention those things out loud.”

He crosses his arms as well, mirroring her. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

She starts counting items on her fingers. “For one, don’t ignore it when people talk to you to stare out of the window longingly--”

“I don’t--”

“I  _ get  _ that it’s dramatic and cool-looking and all but it also raises a lot of suspicion--”

“But--”

“ _ Especially  _ when it comes to Apple, you know how watchful of everything related to her fairytale she is--”

Daring bristles. “I’m not a  _ thing-- _ ”

“ _ Also _ , stop sneaking out literally  _ all the time _ \--”

“You act like I’m skipping classes and running--”

She spells his mouth shut and barrels on. “So at the very least do talk to her once or twice  _ without _ looking like you want to run off every few seconds.  _ And  _ stop missing Bookball practice.”

He guiltily stops trying to talk. Raven ignores him.

“Believe me or not, people are starting to notice. And if you don’t want Headmaster Grimm to know you’re up to something, you’ll have to do something about it.”

They stand in silence for a moment, and Raven unspells his mouth.

“Well,” she hesitates, but continues talking anyway. “Don’t forget that you can come to me if you need any help.”

Daring has been preparing for this. “I actually might,” he says, reluctant; another piece of his secret that he has to give up.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

He runs his hand through his hair, hood not pulled up for once. “I can’t do it by myself. I  _ want  _ to, because it’s not safe to bring other people in, but there’s too many variables and things I don’t know about to do this alone.”

“Like the binding spell?” Raven asks, and he nods resignedly.

“There’s a girl trapped in the woods,” he cautiously says, closing his eyes in surrender. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to give Cerise’s secret away. But if Daring wants to make any progress in freeing her he is going to need help, so he forces himself to unclench his jaw and keep talking. “And Headmaster Grimm put her there.”

 

***

 

“I’m not sure how,” Daring says, the words coming out before he can stop them. He’s all too aware of her knee just barely touching his own, and hopes she’ll never notice the light flush on his cheeks, the sweatiness of the palms of his hands. “But I’m going to get you out of here.”

Cerise looks away. “Daring, you know--”

“I know,” he interrupts, feeling slightly guilty about speaking over her but also wanting to free the knot on his chest as much as he can. “But I’m a Charming. Breaking curses and unfair enchantments is what we do, and this certainly is that kind of situation. Even if it’s not my fairytale. Even if it’s not  _ your  _ fairytale.”

“My fairytale doesn’t matter anymore,” Cerise says, and Daring isn’t sure whether or not she says it as a good thing. “And neither should yours. You just have to be happy, regardless of your destiny, and you won’t be able to if you spend your time trying to free me.”

_ I don’t think you understand,  _ Daring tries to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, unable to claw their way out and face the terrifying unknown of their consequences.  _ I won’t be happy if you aren’t free _ . But he isn’t daring nor charming - not like this, not by her side and knowing that he might lose her, not fearless and brave and ready to dash head-first into danger - so he doesn’t say it.

 

***

 

It’s a stroke of luck that Daring is just in the right place in the right time to hear Headmaster Grimm coming; he pulls the hood over his face, blending in the shadows seamlessly in a gesture that has become all-too-familiar to him over the past weeks, and holds his breath.

“Yes, yes,” he’s saying impatiently to someone, probably his assistant. “I am aware that they want Excalibur back, but we  _ need  _ it until this class of fairytales all pledge to their destinies. Raven Queen is the worst of them all, but if we get  _ her  _ to sign then the others will go along, I think--”

Grimm voice trails off as he turns a corner, and Daring lets out a sigh of relief at not being discovered.

_ I need to remember to thank Cerise for the cloak again _ , he thinks. And then, almost in afterthought:  _ the mighty sword Excalibur is here. _

The sword of legend is a myth among myths, powerful and unyielding and fabled to win every battle and cut through everything in its path. And, according to Headmaster Grimm, it’s in Ever After High.

Suddenly, Daring knows just how he’s going to set his damsel in the woods free.

 

***

 

Raven slides in the seat in front of him like it’s something she does all the time. It’s not, though, and so Daring has to put up with the curious stares directed at them all over the Castleteria.

“You are so very subtle,” he hisses at her, trying his hardest not to look around paranoically because if her sitting with him doesn’t shout that they’re up to something, that definitely will. “Only, you know,  _ not _ .”

Raven waves him off. “I won’t stay for long. Besides, you did the same thing a while ago.”

Daring looks away.

“Anyway,” Raven continues. “What did you want to talk about?”

He spreads his fingers, studying them intently and doing his best not to make their conversation seem important. “Where would Headmaster Grimm keep a precious object?”

She looks pensively towards the ceiling. “Well,” she says at last. “There’s his office, for one. And then there’s the Treasury, where they keep all fairytale items not in use, but it really depends on what  _ kind  _ of item.”

He recognizes her attempt at gathering more information. He ignores it.

“I’m not telling you what it is,” he says anyway, just to make things clear. “You’re already under enough suspicion as it is.”

Raven makes an odd sort of noise. “You’re forgetting that sort of behaviour is to be expected on my part. Headmaster Grimm would probably be glad that I’m up to something for once.”

“Still,” he counteracts weakly.

“ _ Daring _ .” He knows that tone. It’s the same tone Darling uses when she wants something - when she  _ gets  _ something. It means he’s lost.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I need to steal Excalibur.”

 

***

 

In the end, it’s simple. At least, simple enough. Raven tells him it’s a remix of a failed plan she had once attempted, and the thought doesn’t bring him comfort - but at least, it’s a  _ plan _ , and once they start, things are set in motion.

Raven provides a distraction. Apple gets to her before she can do things the way they had meant to, but when both girls are around things always seem to escalate to disproportionate heights, and so her mission still is accomplished. Daring slips away in the midst of the confusion - there’s already food being thrown around, students slipping on patches of spilled juice and dessert, and Headmaster Grimm’s favourite law-abiding students stuck in the middle of it.

He locks the doors to the Castleteria behind him. He’s not allowed much time, but every detail counts when it comes to not being caught.

Headmaster Grimm comes blazing by, likely alerted by the commotion. Daring ducks behind a tapestry, momentarily forgetting the safety of his cloak, and makes sure the man turns the corner before sprinting away.

_ There’s two locations _ , Raven had said.  _ The Treasury and his office _ . They had both agreed that the office was the most likely location for such an item, but if they were  _ wrong _ ...

Daring doesn’t dwell on it.

There’s plenty of safety measures guarding both the office and the sword, but all it takes is a bit of Raven’s magic and his legacy - curse-breakers, the Charming lot, and the defensive casings fall apart at his fingertips - and he has it.

_ He has it _ .

Holding Excalibur is all kinds of terrifying. He’s heard tales after tales of it, from when he was still in the womb to his Heroics 101 class last week, and the surge of power that threatens to consume him isn’t described in any of them.  _ Free me, use me, take me,  _ whispers the sword.  _ I yearn for adventure, I yearn for blood, I yearn for battle, and so do you _ .

His voice is raspy, like he’s remembering how to talk, and it reminds him of Cerise in her clearing. Cerise, who he’ll free as soon as he makes it out of the castle. “I do. But not yet.  _ Not yet _ .”

_ Not-yet-not-yet-not-yet _ becomes the beat of his heart. His hands are shining golden, tracing braids of light down the veins in his forearms, and he’s afraid he’ll be too consumed by it to do what he came to do in the first place.

_ Release me,  _ says the sword.  _ Release me, and I’ll release you _ .  _ Take me away _ .

“It’s not me I want to release.”  _ Not-yet-not-yet-not-yet.  _ “And I don’t think I can keep you after this.”

_ Excalibur chooses its wielder _ , says the sword.

“You’re not mine to take.”  _ Not-yet-not-yet-not-yet _ . It’s not his, the sword will never be his, but he can’t help but  _ want  _ it. “And I’m hardly deserving of it. I’m nowhere near heroic or mature enough.”

Daring thinks he can almost hear the sword chuckle. It reverberates within him, lighting trapped within a body.  _ Take me with you, Daring Charming, and then we’ll see _ .

 

***

 

He’s not sure what he is anymore. Pieces of his soul are at war, and the outside of his body is probably an indicator of that. A sword - not just a sword, but the mightiest of them all - lies at his side, tainting his arm golden with power that won’t wash off. On his other hand, there’s a basket filled with food and a cursed braid of rusty nail and flowers and hair and blood. His clothes are princely, regal, but there is no crown, and above them all is a red hood made for hiding in shadows and for finding a home between trees and streams and dirt.

Daring supposes it’s a good thing he never got to know which fairytale he was meant to, because he’s quite sure this isn’t it.

He doesn’t alert Cerise to his presence. He’s getting quite good at this, sneaking around and hiding under the hood of a fairytale that isn’t meant to be, and he works hard at filling his basket. The spells are hidden everywhere he cares to look, and he once more thanks his legacy as a Charming for making everything so easy even as he keeps Excalibur’s voice away from his ears. He won’t be swayed. He won’t be influenced. He won’t be led astray or be convinced of anything at all until this is done.

He finds forty-eight in total. A number for completion, Daring has learned, and his basket overflows with flowers and curses and pieces of fairytales meant to be kept hidden from the world.

Then he sees a glint. He nearly misses it, so covered with leaves that it is, but when he reaches closer and brushes them aside, he knows what it is.

His crown. The one he had lost so long ago.

Daring figures he doesn’t need it anymore.

 

***

 

She’s shivering when he finds her, a wild look to her silvery eyes.

“Something’s changed,” she says, wide eyes turned in his direction. Her lips are parted, red and hinting at sharpness hiding behind them. “Something’s different.”

He catches his reflection in the stream as he walks to her, and almost paused. There’s something different about the way he carries himself now - less carefully maintained, more secure - and he almost doesn’t recognize his reflection as himself.

Daring realizes he hasn’t bothered to look properly in a mirror in weeks. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should.

_ Undeserving? Not heroic or mature enough?  _ The sword taunts him from the edges of his mind.  _ Excalibur doesn’t work for the weak and undeserving. _

“Cerise.”

Daring is calm. He’s too calm for any of this - and what a situation it has come to. In the back of his brain he sorts through the things he’s done - the sneaking, the lying, the rule-breaking, the rebel-consorting, the theft, the willingness to break out someone he hardly knows even if it defies everything he’s believed in for so long.

_ Deserving? Mature? Heroic?  _ His words keep being thrown back at him, time and time again, and he does his best to ignore them.  _ If you fail, she’ll suffer. Excalibur only works with the chosen _ .

He shows her the sword.

Her sharp intake of breath is all the confirmation he needs to know that she  _ knows _ . “Daring, how do you have that?”

He bends at his knees, offers it to her - a knight to his damsel, even if he’s not a knight and she’d loathe the title. “I don’t think I’m good enough to wield it,” he says. “But I thought the choice should be yours.”

Her hands - rough, warm, calloused,  _ amazing _ \- caress the crown of his head. “You shouldn’t have risked it. I didn’t ask you to do any of this.”

He exhales, leaning back against her hand. “I know.”

“I can’t ask you to do it.”

“You can.” He raises his head, fixes her eyes with his. Between the thrumming of the sword in his hands and the rapid beating of his heart and the eyes that pull at his soul, he’s nearly lost. “But it’s your choice. To do it or not, to wield the sword yourself or to ask me to.”

Her eyes flicker to the sword, and he can see the turbulence behind them. Yearning, yearning, _ yearning _ , and sorrow. “I’ll always wonder if I don’t.”

Daring rises, lets the sword fall back at his side. “It’s your choice.”

“You’ll be here? With me?”

He doesn’t need to think. “Yes.”

She studies him. “Will you wield the sword?”

“If you want me to,” he answers without hesitation. “But it might not let me.”

Cerise brushes her hand down the length of his golden arm, tracing his veins, the flow of his blood. She doesn’t reach for the sword. “Excalibur only moves for the worthy.”

He nods. “I don’t think it’ll move for me.”

“But it’s my choice?”

“It’s your choice.”

She pauses. Her fingers trace slow circles on his wrist, making heat coil in his stomach.

He holds his breath.

“What does the sword require?” she asks at last. “What does it seek?”

“Heroicness.” The word tastes bitter on his tongue, a reminder of what he had once strived at. He doesn’t weep for his dragon-slaying days, for his destiny as a the destined prince of a fairytale.

_ Heroicness _ , the sword confirms.  _ Courage. Humbleness. Willingness to do good. _

Cerise isn’t looking at him anymore, but at the sword. “What else?”

Daring almost falls back a step. “You heard it?”

She smiles. “I was meant to.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Meant to?”

“Being a hero doesn’t necessarily mean being a legend, you know,” Cerise says. She’s still smiling. “Daring, I want you to swing the sword - if you’re still willing.”

“I am,” he says. “But--”

Her smile widens, almost predatory in nature. Her canines glint at him, and his memories of the first day he met her come stumbling back.  _ Fairy or human or monster?  _ “Good.”

“If I fail--”

“You won’t.” There’s a finality to it, a certainty he’s not used to hearing, and it startles him. “Excalibur and I are like-minded, it seems.”

“That’s not--”

“Daring.” She cuts his words short. “I trust you.”

_ You shouldn’t _ , he wants to say.  _ You might get hurt _ . But he doesn’t think she’ll believe him.

“Fine,” he says, and breathes in. His hands tighten around the handle; Excalibur vibrates beneath his fingers. It is waiting, and Cerise is waiting, and the whole world seems to have stopped just for this moment, and Daring doesn’t know what to expect or what to hope for. “Fine.”

He swings the sword, golden light flashing, and then it all turns black.

 

***

 

“Once upon a time,” he hears a voice say, and he wants it to never stop talking. “There was a girl who had a grandmother in the woods.”

It’s a story, he realizes. A fairytale, and he knows it’s important even though he can’t remember why. There’s a basket filled with food, and a cloak as red as blood, and flowers off the path in the middle of a dark forest.

And there’s a wolf.

 

***

 

He stumbles in and out of consciousness like a half-dreamed thing, torn between listening to the voice and returning to the warm clutches of sleep. It smells good in his cosy nest of red fabric, of musk and pine and all things that belong in a forest, and for a while he almost thinks he can feel warm fur.

There’s warmth at his side, even warmer than his cloth cocoon, and he turns to it before he realizes that the warmth belongs to a body. And it’s only then that the memories come rushing back, filling his head and making his scramble with with  _ Cerise _ falling from his lips.

He finds her amused at his side.

“So the Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” she jokes, and he takes the time to study her while the rest of his senses catch up. She doesn’t look  _ hurt _ , at least on a surface level, but wounds don’t need to be physical to be there.

He tries to speak, fails, and tries again. “Are you feeling fine?”

Cerise grins widely. “The best I’ve felt in a long time. Though I should ask the same of you.”

Now that she’s asking, he realizes that he feels sore. Sore, with a headache the size of a giant’s home, but his body thrums with energy as if he’s been struck by lightning. “I-- I don’t know.”

“You wielded Excalibur,” she says. “And took the brunt of the recoil when the chains were broken, so I wouldn’t expect you to be at your best.”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “The chains?”

She leans in; her lips brush petal-soft against his forehead, tender and kind. His mind blanks for a moment as she leans back, not sure what he should be expecting - but no, she’s only brushing away a lock of hair, smiling at him like no one ever has. Like he means the world.

And then she shows him her hands. “I’m free.”

 

***

 

He studies the runes running down the veins of his arms, golden and solid. They’re the marks of someone chosen, of a  _ hero _ , but it’s hard to fight the feeling of inadequacy that seems to turn everything to ashes in his mouth.

Cerise slides to his side, makes his eyes slide away from his hands to her. He whispers her name, or he thinks he does, but she doesn’t seem to have heard it. Instead, she takes it upon herself to caress the golden veins on his arms with her eyes fully fixed on his. They’re solemn, all kinds of grey and silver and storm clouds, but for once it’s a different kind of storm - or at least he thinks it is.

“Daring,” Cerise whispers. “What will you do after this?”

He can’t look away. “I don’t know. I can’t just walk back in - they’ll know it was me who took Excalibur.” He manages to drag his eyes away from hers for a moment, casts them towards his marked arms and the sword at his side. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but at least it doesn’t taste like regret.

Cerise doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “What will you do?”

Cerise grins, and it’s not a nice kind of grin. “I will find Milton Grimm.”

Daring thinks he’s always known this. “WIll you hurt him?”

“Possibly,” she says. “Depends on where my parents are. If they’re-- if they’re still alive.”

He stays silent for a moment. “Will you kill him?”

She comes closer, closer, until the silkiness of her hair brushes his face and her forehead leans against his. “I don’t know. What will you do after this?”

_ I don’t know _ , he wants to repeat once more, but now he knows it’d be a lie. “After-- after you’re done with Grimm, could I go with you?”

There’s no doubt she’ll get to do what she wants. Cerise is an odd sort of damsel - beautiful and clever and dangerous, even if he isn’t sure to which extent. And Daring knows, more than anything, that he’ll find himself by her side until she sends him away.

Her lashes flutter against his skin. He can’t breathe.

“Daring,” she breathes. “ _ Yes.  _ How you ever thought you couldn’t wield Excalibur is beyond me - you  _ are  _ a hero.”

Excalibur seems to sing against his bones, or maybe it’s his heart that’s beating hard enough to rattle them.  _ Hero. Hero. Hero. _

“I’m not, he says. “My reasons for going are very much selfish, but will you take me with you anyway?”

Her lips barely brush his as she speaks, a smirk curling on the edges of her mouth. He can’t help but watch, entranced, as the lowering sun casts shadows across her cheeks, as she sucks in her bottom lip before replying:

“My reasons for taking you are selfish too.”

And she kisses him.

Cerise is warm, warmer than he could ever hope to be in the comfort of the castle with all its fireplaces and fuzzy rugs and shielding walls, and her warmth burns against his skin like a brand. She tugs him closer, pulls him by the cape that is now as his as it had ever been hers, and he’s dragged willingly into her. His hands stumble to find purchase, to not let him fall over, but she’s a solid wall of muscle and softness against his body and his lack of balance only serves to bring him into her lap.

She doesn’t seem bothered with this in the slightest.

He allows himself to fall forward, to let her shoulder his weight on that effortless way of hers, and she grips his thighs and pulls him even closer as reward. Her lips pull and drag and slide against his, sharp teeth nipping until he’s muffling sounds against her mouth that he would be embarrassed about if this had been with anyone else. Her tongue curls around his; her nails sink into his thighs, and he slides his hands in her head.

He senses more than he hears her hood falling back, and they both stop.

Daring breaths hard, eyes still closed. Cerise drags her lips across the planes of his cheeks, over the line of his jaw, sucks at the spot beneath his ear.

“You can open your eyes,” she says. And then, “I trust you.”

He takes a moment, two, to open his eyes. He knows what he’d felt, the moment right before the hood had fallen, but he can’t be sure, can’t be  _ sure _ \-- and then he opens his eyes, and he is.

What’s left of his breath whooshes out. “When we first met, I thought you were a fairy.”

Her eyes are dark, golden, wide and slitted, and her teeth are sharp and her lips are red, red, red as blood, and they part under her smile. It’s not a gentle or pretty or beautiful smile, and she’s a predator and he’s her prey. “Fairy? No, Daring,” and here she chuckles in her raspy voice, the one he’s learned to look forward to. “I’m the big bad  _ wolf _ .”

 

***

 

Daring has grown up hearing all sorts of tales: of knights and dragons, of princesses and true love’s kiss. And, of course, of  _ wolves _ . They’re the villains of the story, as bad as the evil fairies and as ruthless as the terrible stepmothers.

But this is  _ Cerise _ .

He knows better.

So all he manages to say is  _ oh _ , hushed and breathless and maybe a bit thin from how much his head is spinning, but before she can pull away he snakes a hand in her hair and pulls her closer once more. And closer, and closer, until her lips are barely brushing his again and she’s looking at him with those dark eyes that make  _ something  _ coil hot and tight at the bottom of his stomach, and he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

And then he kisses her again, fingers brushing the sensitive skin and fur of her ears, and she’s also making  _ those sounds _ , and there is one thing Daring knows.

This is where he’s meant to be.

 

***

 

They let the sky fall and rise again as they discuss their options, entwined under one of Cerise’s multiple cloaks for warmth. Excalibur is light on his hands when he picks it up to sheathe it in place, as if it has always been meant for him, and Daring knows better than to question it. His destiny seems to like throwing him in all sorts of different fairytales until he’s not quite sure what he’s meant for anymore, but Daring figures he can find out.

He’s got a wolf at his side, and the holy sword in his hand, and he’s no longer afraid of what the future may bring.

 


End file.
